


Till Death Do Us Part

by heartandmindcounterpoint



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 1940s Oxford, Angst, Chameleon Arch, Episode Fix-It: s09e12 Hell Bent, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hell Bent alternate ending, Human Doctor (Doctor Who), Human Nature (sort of), Post-Episode: s09e12 Hell Bent, Romance, Series 9 canon-compliant, Series 9 spoilers, Spoilers for Episode: s09e12 Hell Bent, a lot of fixing actually, well sort of, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-06-09 16:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6914482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartandmindcounterpoint/pseuds/heartandmindcounterpoint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clara knew her death in Trap Street was a fixed point the universe needed her to fulfill, but it broke her heart that the Doctor didn’t recognize her. What would happen if he did? Would they endanger reality if they spend time together before she goes to her death, or was there wiggle room? How much time would be too much?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Just see me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yet another Hell Bent alternate ending/fixit, and yet another Human Nature AU. But the latter is only rarely done with Twelve, and I think the tension of the universe needing Clara’s death really should be expanded. As well as some other things, so…I’m finding myself with my first ever serious attempt at writing fiction, and my first time posting fiction. I’m a musician and a music theorist, not a writer, so please give me feedback.
> 
> As usual, all the characters you recognize belong to the BBC – or to real-life 1940’s Oxford. All the dialog up through “Yeah, it would be, wouldn’t it.” is directly quoted from Hell Bent.
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

“When something goes missing, you can always recreate it by the hole it left,” the Doctor said. “I know her name was Clara. I know we travelled together. I know that there was an Ice Warrior on a submarine and a mummy on the Orient Express. I know we sat together in the Cloisters and she told me something very important, but I have no idea what she said. Or what she looked like. Or how she talked. Or laughed.” He blinked. “There's nothing there. Just nothing.”

Clara struggled to keep her voice normal. “Are you looking for her?”

The Doctor looked out the window of the ‘diner’ and sighed before answering. “I'm trying.”

Yes! “She could be anyone, right? You don't know who you're looking for. I mean, she could be me, for all you know,” Clara said, daring to hope for a spark of recognition. She knew her death in Trap Street was a fixed point the universe needed her to fulfill, but she couldn’t help but try to connect to her beloved Doctor.

The Doctor smiled. “There's one thing I know about her. Just one thing. If I met her again, I would absolutely know.”

Tears smarted her eyes, and she looked down to hide them. Meanwhile, Doctor Idiot continued, turning around toward the tables at the wall. “I think that we were here, you know? I think that we were here together once.” She quickly turned away lest he see her tears. But he was oblivious.

“I'm sure I'll remember. Over here.”

He couldn’t see her. He was looking right at her, and he couldn’t see her. Oh, now, now she knew what it was like for him when they were in Glasgow right after he changed and she was on the phone with his previous self. Now she was the unrecognized one. _I’m not in your memories, I’m right here, standing in front of you. Please, just see me!_

But he continued his train of thought. “Stupid Doctor.” Yeah, stupid alright. “Amy and Rory. It was Amy and Rory.”

Clara suppressed her tears and turned back to him, forcing cheer into her voice. “What about your TARDIS, hey? Have you found that yet?” He didn’t reference the TARDIS by name in his story. This was a clue for him, if he wanted to recognize it. Or if he didn’t, well, he needed his TARDIS back, and he would find another clue in her picture that Rigsy painted on it.

The Doctor was busy thinking, but he responded. “No. Somebody's moved it from London. I'm still looking. But this diner. It wasn't always here, was it? It used to be on the other side of the hill.” He was still fixated on the diner – maybe he realized something was up? She decided to try one last clue. “Well, maybe someone will find your TARDIS for you.” There. If he couldn’t put two and two together, her clever Doctor, maybe he didn’t really want to find her. Maybe he preferred to stew in the memories he still retained. Well, she ought to be brave and do the right thing by fulfilling her death in Trap Street, anyway. She headed for the door to the console room. But the Doctor started playing “Clara” on his guitar again, and she paused. Did he miss her, not just as a puzzle? Maybe one more hint, and one more attempt to comfort him. She turned back to him. “What Clara told you in the Cloisters.”

He turned around. “I don't remember a single thing about it.”

“You said memories… become stories when we forget them.” His sad face! “Maybe some of them become songs.”

He smiled and turned, pensive. “That’d be nice.” He started strumming his guitar, returning his attention to his memories and to the instrument. He was missing it! By suggesting such a connection between the sweet song and what she told him in the Cloisters, she was hinting that she had loved him –and maybe he her. Which ought to move him to work harder to deduce whether she might be Clara. But he wasn’t even trying. Bitterly she turned to leave through the door: “Yeah, it would be, wouldn’t it.” She turned back to the door, hiding the tears that threatened to fall again, since he was still facing her.

Suddenly his strumming stopped. “Wait!” He put a hand on her shoulder and she turned around halfway, closing the door. “What’s wrong? Have I upset you?” She kept her head down, but a sniffle escaped her.

“Are you crying?” His burr sounded surprised but gentle. He stepped in front of her. When she dared to look up at him, his eyes were owl-wide. He nibbled at his thumb, then took off his guitar. Oh, his endearing mannerisms. Watching him hurt.

“Er, I’m not really a hugging – no, never mind, would you…would you like a hug?” She stared at him for a second before burrowing into his chest. He held her for a few moments until her breathing calmed down a little, as he awkwardly patted her on the back. Suddenly he froze. “Who are you?” He started to pull out of the surprisingly long hug, and she took a deep breath before looking at him with as much calm as she could muster. She could see his Time Lord brain going a mile a minute, and an ember of hope lit again in her heart as he kept holding her wrists. She managed a small, sad smile. “Clara?” He softly uttered. She looked up again, and his eyes probed hers as he grew hopeful. “Clara? Are you Clara?” She smiled. “Come on, don’t do two emotions at once. Tell me!”

“I’m Clara.”

“Which one?”

She snorted. “Not one of my echoes, Doctor. The original Clara, Clara Oswin Oswald.”

“Clara!” His hug was sudden and overwhelming, and lasted for a full minute. Finally he spoke, his voice low and shaky. “I was afraid I’d never find you. Don’t make me let you go.”

She let a moment pass before saying gently, “But Doctor, you have to.”

He pulled out of the hug. She caught a glimpse of pain in his eyes before he turned away from her. “Clara, forgetting you was like…dying. So much…so much of my identity was formed around you, for so long, that part of me died. ” His eyes darted to hers. “Clara, please.”

Oh, the pain and pleading in his voice! She wrapped him in her arms again, feeling him tremble. Okay, she needed to be strong for both of them.

As close as they were, she almost didn’t hear him. “I _can’t_ lose you again.”

She clasped him tightly, steeling herself, then let go of him. She got up and poured him more lemonade. Now her voice should be steady enough. “Doctor,”

“Clara,” he warned.

She shook her head and took a deep breath. “My death in Trap Street is a fixed point in time. The universe needs my death there to happen. And don’t say it doesn’t have a vote.”

He widened his eyes at her. “Clara.”

“Hey, hey.” She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. How could she make him smile again? She recalled how she half-suggested they “just fly away” before they triggered the neural block device together. “How about we take one trip together, before I go back and get un-extracted? How about we just fly away somewhere? One last hurrah?”

He took a moment before answering, his face unreadable. “You know the last time we had a 'last hurrah' we couldn’t stop.”

What? He remembered her on that trip? “Are you remembering?"

“I don’t remember you specifically on the Orient Express, but I do know that was supposed to be our goodbye trip…and it wasn’t.”

Clara swallowed her disappointment and tried to sound confident. “We’ll be careful. We’ll go in your TARDIS, and Ashildr will have our number and will come pick me up when we’re done. No, she better chaperone us. Anyway, I can call her now. She’s just-”

“And then I have to let you go?” His voice cracked. Oh, her dear Doctor. She fought back the tears prickling her eyes and reached for his hand.

“If there was something I could do about that, I would , Doctor. I would. But staying with you…wouldn’t be good. We would stick together too long if I did that, and I would die elsewhere or we would endanger the fixed point in some other way.”

“Clara,” he started to object.  
  
“No. You said it yourself, that you went too far for fear of losing me. That’s why you set up the neural blocker in the first place. So you would never go that far again.” She paused, squeezing his hand. “Even if my death weren’t a fixed point, we would endanger the universe again sooner or later, if we drew closer. You know that. We need to separate, and soon.” While we’re still strong enough.

He was quiet for a long moment. “You’re right. I have this feeling you’re always right.” He offered a sad smile. “Okay. One trip, one full trip, in my TARDIS, and then I’ll let you go. But Ashildr isn’t chaperoning us. She’d interfere too much.”

“She doesn’t need to be with us all the time. She can just stick around in the TARDIS while we’re on our adventure so we can’t keep squeezing more trips in. That’s enough.”

“Yes, boss.” He smiled at her knowingly. “You’re itching to call her now, aren’t you. Do you even have her number?”

“Don’t need it. She’s just inside the console room, right through that door.”

He stared for a moment, then laughed. “I should have known this was a TARDIS. How else could the diner have moved?” They both chuckled.

As their laughter faded, he looked thoughtful. “One more thing. I still don’t properly remember you. Nothing from before the neural blocker.”

“I suppose that’s good.”

“Well, we can’t have me tearing the universe apart for you again.” He looked over her shoulder. “ But, I don’t want to totally forget you or what you taught me.” His eyes sought hers. “Please, Clara. Write up our time together before you go, so I can remember you in that way.” Now his was the sad smile. “How can I honor your memory if I don’t know anything about you?”

She smiled. “I’ll write it. I’ll do it before our trip.”

“Thank you.” He flitted away back towards the bar. “But first, what do you say to one more round of drinks?”

“Lemonade in an American diner? You’re on.”

She refilled her glass to match his.

Both were quiet for a moment, just enjoying the other’s company. But the Doctor couldn’t stay quiet for long. “Why did you decide to land here? How did you know about this diner and Amy and Rory? Did I tell you that story?”

“Nah, Ashildr told me. It was her idea.”

“Ashildr? Really?”

“Yeah. She spent a lot of time with them, you know? Caught up with them in the 1930's, helped them find a home and settle in. She even helped them adopt Anthony in the ’40's.”

“Anthony? They adopted a child?”

“They never told you? Wow. Um, yeah. Amy, you know, couldn’t…bear children herself after she had Melody.” The Doctor nodded. “And they really wanted children,” Clara softly added. She knew what it was like to want children but know you won’t have them, ever. No, don’t dwell on that. Focus.

As she looked up, the Doctor seemed lost in his own memories for a moment. “They never told me about my brother-in-law. I suppose Amy thought it was best to hide their life in Manhattan from me since I couldn’t visit.”

“Wait, brother-in-law? How was he your brother-in-law? I thought River was your wife.”

“Didn’t I tell you about her? No, I suppose not.”

She stared at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. He sighed and began. “River Song and Melody Pond were the same person. I met her as River, and that’s the name she preferred to use after she met me. But, she was born Melody Pond to Amy and Rory. She was conceived on the TARDIS, which is why she had some Time Lord DNA, but the Silence and Madame Kovarian kidnapped Amy while she was pregnant. We rescued Amy, but Kovarian kidnapped newborn Melody and trained her from birth to become a weapon against me.”

“What happened? How did you end up married?” The Doctor didn’t marry companions, did he? How…

“Her murder of me was a fixed point in time, but she refused to kill me. So time was dying, and countless lives with it. Every living thing in the universe was at risk, unless I died. To save reality by reestablishing my death, we only had to touch since we were the opposite poles of the disruption. We got married before I convinced her to do it.”

It sounded like he hadn’t really wanted to marry her. But, he spoke as if he had loved River. Clara quelled her discomfort, choosing to focus on his story. “So how come you didn’t die? Did you regenerate? I thought you were already Chin Boy then.”

Was that guilt on his face? He looked away too quickly for her to tell. “Oh, I had already hidden myself inside a Teselecta robot that looked like me. You know what a Teselecta is, remember? We met one when we saved the Prime Minister of Pogoria. Anyway, River agreed to shoot this Teselecta when I showed her my plan. The fixed point was preserved because everyone thought I had actually died, including the Silence. Well, I say everyone…”

Clara stared at him. “You know what this means for you and me?”

“No, what?” She glared at him. “Seriously, what?”

“Can’t my death on Trap Street be maintained by the same sleight of hand?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the wiping of the Doctor's memory being like death: The Doctor spent four and a half billion years with Clara as his sole purpose and method, his one goal and his means. Even though he probably didn't remember all those years, he still lived them. At least, he spent several centuries on Trenzalore longing for Clara, plus loads of his life since he became Twelve. Remember what he said in "The Zygon Inversion": "I let Clara Oswald get inside my head. Trust me, she doesn't leave." And through all her echoes, her story, her timeline, is entwined closely with his; remember also that “The soul’s made of stories” (The Doctor, "The Rings of Akhaten"). She has inspired him, and continues to inspire him, to be the Doctor time and time again, as early as his own childhood (Listen). Clara is tightly knit to his very identity as the Doctor. So to wipe away all memories of her, was to rip away much of who the Doctor IS now.
> 
> Please be kind and give me feedback. This is my first ever serious attempt at writing fiction, and my first time posting fiction. I'm a musician and music theorist, not a writer.


	2. Fixed Points and Fables

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the encouraging responses! If anyone would like to be a beta-reader for this, please let me know. As I said last chapter, I am new to writing fiction and very much looking for feedback – especially ALL kinds of constructive criticism. In fact, as of 7/30 I just significantly edited this chapter based on feedback - thank you Anne and Guest! But enough about me. Could the solution that the Doctor found for his death work for Clara?

Clara stared at the Doctor. “You know what this means for you and me?”

“No, what?” She glared at him. “Seriously, what?”

“Can’t my death on Trap Street be maintained by the same sleight of hand?” Clara asked.

The Doctor stared at her, then blinded her with his grin. “Oh, Clara Oswald, you are brilliant!”

“You think it’ll really work? We wouldn’t risk the universe?” His face became unreadable and he looked away. “You’re not sure, are you?”

He smiled again, a bit tightly. “Oh, no, I’m sure it’ll work. It worked for me, didn’t it?” His voice sounded odd. Fishy.

“How did it work, exactly?”

He didn’t answer, so she tried again. “I mean, your death was a fixed point in time. Your actual death, right? And, according to you, you didn’t actually die. Something that looked like you died, yes, but not actually you. Was that really enough?” He didn’t meet her eyes, and didn’t answer her. She must be onto something.

“You say it worked because everyone thought you had died, but even if that was true at the time, it’s didn’t stay true. You haven’t exactly stayed a hermit ever since. Hundreds, probably thousands of beings on many different planets know you continue to live. You don’t even look the same anymore, so they know it’s not just earlier versions of you traveling through time, they know you really survived.” He covered his face in his hands.

But she didn’t change faces like he did. So long as she didn’t go back to Earth and they were careful, no one would be the wiser. They could travel together for years. Why didn’t he already try faking her death if faking his had worked? “If faking your death had worked, surely you would have thought of faking mine. If it had worked, faking my death would have been better than your plan –  the neural block and killing the General to get it so I would forget you. You spent so long in the confession dial, surely you would have figured out how to fake my death. But no, you didn’t choose that. You extracted me right before I myself died there. So you must not have faked your death with a look-alike.” His head drooped further, hands still covering his face.

Except he did, once. When she had seen the ghost Doctor hologram. She had demanded he survive, and he reverse-engineered the events. They hadn’t destroyed even their own timelines – no paradox loop. Why was he able to do that then, and not now with her death? She had died, he had died…well no, actually, he hadn’t. They thought he had, but he hadn’t. It wasn’t a fixed point. Changing his ghost didn’t risk reality at all. Changing her death would. And changing his death at River’s hands had definitely risked reality. Changing his death shouldn’t have hurt time if he hadn’t really died. But it had, and he had saved reality…by changing his death? Wouldn’t that have just risked everything all over again?

“Trying to save reality in such a risky fashion doesn’t fit you at all. You wouldn’t touch a true fixed point if changing it could fracture reality. Not when billions and billions of lives were at stake. Not when there was a less foolproof alternative, even if it was your own life. You would never risk the universe that much just to save your own skin, especially when you could regenerate. You…you must have actually died. Unless I’m wrong.” She paused. “Did you die?” He hesitated, then nodded. She went around the counter so she could sit next to him. He was still hiding his face, so she touched his arm gently. “Why did you lie to me? About the Teselecta?”

He finally withdrew his hands from his face, but he wouldn’t look at her. “Didn’t want you to catch me in a previous lie.”

“Which lie?”

He glanced up, then looked down again. “Remember when I was explaining to you on Trenzalore how I was actually on my last regeneration?”

She blinked. “Yeah, you said that your regeneration during the Time War counted-”

“And that Doctor Ten once regenerated with the same face,” he interrupted.

“Yeah, so you were on your thirteenth…”  Oh. _Already_ on his last regeneration. When his fixed death was yet to occur. “Did you not regenerate? How did you survive? Or did you not actually die? Or…”

He shook his head. “Oh, I died. You are exactly right. No, the lie was that it was my sandshoe self that regenerated into the same face, rather than Bowtie.” He paused, looking embarrassed. “I worried you wouldn’t approve of regenerating into the same face, so I put the blame on Sandshoes rather than my current self. Sandshoes did have vanity issues.”

“Why did you regenerate into the same face?” She took his hand in hers. He took a deep breath. “Regeneration can be really hard on my companions and me, as you know.  I didn’t want to add that stress to my relationships with the Ponds, River in particular. They only knew me as Bowtie, with his face and personality. River had only met me twice at this point in her timeline. And… we had only just gotten married. So I wanted to keep my body and personality.”

His eyes met Clara’s, his gaze vulnerable. She suddenly wanted to kiss him. Stop it! Focus. “How did you manage to do it? If you can stay the same when you regenerate, how come you don’t do so every time?”  _How come you didn’t do it for me?_

He looked slightly embarrassed. “I’m not very good at regeneration, you know. Most Time Lords have more control. Even River, who wasn’t fully Time Lady, had more control than I do. I once saw her regenerate while focusing on a dress size, not long before I noticed time disintegrating. So, I remembered what could be done during regeneration, and I very much wanted to keep my body and personality. Maybe the TARDIS helped me with my research; she always liked River. Anyway, when the time came somehow I managed it. Mostly. I don’t think I could repeat it. When I regenerated with you, I didn’t know how to handle a whole new regeneration cycle…and I remember I wanted you to see me without my mask of a young face.”

She couldn’t help but give him a side-hug. He accepted it, and she was grateful that he still seemed to trust her, even though all of his memories of her were blocked.

“We could try though,” the Doctor said after a moment.

“Try what?” She ended the hug.

“Find a Teselecta, get them to fake your death on Trap Street. They’ll help if reality is at stake. It really might work.”

It ‘might’ work? Only ‘might’?! He couldn’t be serious, not with so much at stake.

“And risk fracturing time?”

She would never risk every living thing in the universe like that just to save her own skin, not if she could avoid it by dying. She might need every bit of courage she had, but she wouldn’t do it. Not even for his sake. Her death on Trap Street was a fixed event, how could he suggest such a risk?! He valued life – he wasn’t cruel like that. Please tell her this was a joke, bad as it was.

She stared at him. God, he _was_ serious. She stood up.

“How can you suggest such a risk? You lose friends all the time. You don’t change fixed points to save them. You can’t seriously be so scared of _my_ death. Do you think I am? Please tell me this isn’t your obligation of care. Please tell me you wouldn’t risk so much to keep me safe.”

“Clara-”

“I never asked you to! Dying scares me but I will not be a coward about it! How dare you ask me to be one and take such a risk? How dare you?!”

“Clara-” How dare he?! She slapped him. 

“I would _never_ risk reality like that!  I would rather die!” Pain and guilt laced his face, but she wasn’t finished yet. “Are you really so scared of my death? Do you think because you are a coward, I am too?!”

He flinched. “Clara-” He was standing now, actually looking afraid.

“What is _wrong_ with you? You’re never heartless and cowardly…is this – is this what the confession dial did to you? The Doctor I know would never ask me to do this. He would _die_ rather than risk such destruction! And actually, he did!”

“Clara – Clara, please!”

“Shut UP!” He looked terrified. Okay, maybe she should calm down a bit. She took a couple of breaths. In, out. In, out. “You may speak.”

“Clara, this is exactly why I need you. You’re right, you’re absolutely right.” He paused, and she nodded for him to continue. “I’m – I’m not sure how I changed in the confession dial. I just hoped that the idea would really work. But you’re right.” He looked directly at her, his eyes sorrowful. “Clara, I didn’t…I never meant to insult you, or endanger the universe. I just…” He looked away. “I have a duty of care." His voice cracked.

Not that phrase again! She never asked for that – though to be fair, he couldn’t remember that. And he sounded so raw. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then reopened them. “Okay, this is what we’re going to do. You – are never going to try to save me in any way from my fixed point of death. Never. Nor will you ever even _hint_ anything about escaping it. If, and only if, you make and keep this promise, I will join you for our one trip in the TARDIS before I fulfill my fixed death. You break the terms, I’ll leave immediately.”

He held her gaze, then nodded, and she took his hand, helping him stand. Neither spoke for a moment. He seemed about to say something. No, not right now. She was emotionally exhausted. “You go to your TARDIS. I’ll speak to Ashildr and meet you in your TARDIS later,” she said, quietly.

He blinked in surprise. “You know where she is?”

 “Just behind the diner, if you step outside.” He seemed torn. Clara smiled. “Go and see her. Trust me, I’ll come. Just keep your promise and don’t go anywhere without me.” He smiled back, gathered his guitar, and left.

Clara took a deep breath. She hoped Ashildr was in a good mood.

 

* * *

 

“Hello, Old Girl,” Clara found herself saying, stroking the blue box before entering. “Good to see you again too.” She could swear the box was projecting warm happiness to her. She grinned and entered.

She found him in the console room, tinkering. He straightened up, looking slightly relieved, and grinned. “Oh, hello! Have you thought about where you want to go yet?”

“Actually, Doctor-”

“Oh right. No rush to leave, good idea-”

“Doctor-”

“I forgot! You said you would write up our time together before we land. So…”

“Doctor, will you just listen?”

He shut his mouth and nodded.

“I talked with Ashildr. She’s uneasy about the trip, but she promised to come along and stay in the TARDIS while we’re outside the TARDIS. And even stay out of the way while we’re inside.”

He smiled a little. “That’s nice of her.”

She nodded. “But she made me promise  not to stay on board your TARDIS much before we all leave. Which includes a promise not to do my writing-up here either.”

“Oh.” He looked disappointed.

“Cheer up, you’re invited to visit in the other TARDIS pretty much anytime.” His eyes were unreadable. “If – if you want to.”

His face softened. “Of course I want to.”

“Yeah?”

He looked uncomfortable. “I mean, lemonade and sodas in an American Diner? Not to mention floats. And I can bring my guitar, if you like. Oh, and your chalkboards-”

Typical Doctor, rambling to avoid emotional topics.  “Doctor, one more condition.” He stilled. “You have to actually let me write, or I’ll never get it done.”

“Yes, boss."

“I’m going to do some writing now. Wanna come?”

“Just let me get the chalkboards.”

“I’ll help you carry them.”

 

* * *

 

The Doctor actually turned out to more of a help than a hindrance.  His memory of all their adventures was good, fairly thorough and organized even though he couldn’t remember her at all. He even finally told her everything he could of his interactions with her echoes, at once gratifying and frustrating. The greatest difficulty in the writing was trying to remember important things they had said to each other. She wanted as much detail as possible, to teach him as much as she could from their time together. But they just couldn’t recall everything, not even from discussions she knew had changed them. And some of it was painful to review, such as their argument after she nearly killed the moon. But it was great, really great, to reminisce and discuss their adventures together.

Ashildr would usually join them for lunch and dinner. She seemed to enjoy their stories, although she never stayed around for the rest of their discussion. After multiple weeks, as she and Clara were getting ready for bed one night, she confessed to Clara her jealousy of their travels, though she didn’t seem bitter about it. She told Clara a lot about her journals, and even let her read them, pointing out the sections she would find most interesting.

Clara found Ashildr’s journals fascinating. The history was all a bit much, sometimes, but the journals were a portal into what it was like to be immortal. Ashildr’s heartbreak over relationships helped Clara understand both Ashildr’s reserve and the Doctor’s reluctance to invest in his relationships – his fear of bonding too deeply and reaping too much pain, Clara realized. Ashildr’s entry about the death of her children pierced Clara’s heart. No wonder the Doctor rarely married and hadn’t willingly had children since his first regeneration. The pain was too great to bear for century after century.

It was the entries of Ashildr’s second meeting with the Doctor that Clara found herself reading again and again. The Doctor’s suggestion, after he read Ashildr’s journals, that her cold-hearted persona was just a mask reminded Clara of her prickly, rude Time Lord, friends with no one but her. And she couldn’t wrap her mind around Ashildr’s speculation that the Doctor had been considering making Clara immortal. But what gripped her heart most was Ashildr’s conversation with the Doctor after they had saved Sam Swift. It crystallized a startling contrast between the Doctor and Ashildr. Both were effectively immortals who had already lived for hundreds of years, but Ashildr had let the pain of losing people harden her into a lonely, cold-hearted soul, while the Doctor fought weariness and emptiness precisely by surrounding himself with ordinary  mortals to keep seeing how precious life is. Clara finally glimpsed how much of challenge, perhaps even miracle, it was for the Doctor to remain compassionate and optimistic despite living through so much pain and loss. It made her love him all the more.

Not that loving him more really helped. Her days spent together with the Doctor were wonderful, yes, but bittersweet. The more time she spent with him, the more she wished their time together didn’t have to end so soon. And there was the niggling pain that, for all the Doctor appeared to enjoy her company, she knew he couldn’t care for her anywhere near as much as he used to. Still, it was hard not to try to prolong their time together before their trip. The only thing keeping her from putting it off was fear that she and the Doctor would become so attached that one or the other of them would somehow risk altering her fixed death.

So she kept working, neither hurrying nor tarrying as she employed her best writing and editing skills. She tried to spread out the editing because the Doctor couldn’t stand the process and usually took up his own activities, usually guitar, while still keeping her company. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months before she finally found herself writing up what happened on Gallifrey. This turned out to be the hardest of all their time together to write. The events on Gallifrey were the most important to write up well, because the Doctor needed to really understand how dangerously far he had gone, why he had gone so far, what the consequences were and why he had accepted them. And it was hard that her time with the Doctor before their final trip was coming to its end. But mostly it was hard because she had to reexamine what she and the Doctor said to each other in the Cloisters – or rather, what she said and what he didn’t say. Having just learned that he had remained trapped for four and half billion years in that torturous confession dial, just to try to save her from her already fixed death, she had finally told him how she loved him. That she loved him with her whole being – always had, and always would. But he didn’t reciprocate her feelings. As much as they cared for each other, to him she was “just his friend,” as she had overheard him say to Ashildr at the end of the universe. Now, of course, having wiped all his memories of her from before the neural block, he must care for her even less.

 

* * *

 

They threw a small party for the three of them when she finally finished writing it all up. Ashildr surprised Clara and the Doctor when she challenged him to a guitar duel. Apparently the Doctor had inspired Ashildr to take up guitar herself, and she had been practicing for hours on end all these months. The Doctor still won handily, but Ashildr was surprisingly good. Eventually Ashildr turned in for the night, and the Doctor turned to leave.

“Doctor, wait.” He turned back towards her, eyebrows raised. “I want to give you something.”

“Why?” He seemed nervous.

Clara took a deep breath. “Well, I figured I should give you my book of our time together.” She handed him a brown leather volume titled _Clara Oswald and the Doctor: The Impossible Caretaker and His Impossible Carer, Volume 1_. She still wasn’t satisfied with the title, but it was the best she had come up with. At least the Diner-TARDIS had fancy book-printing machines to make it look nice.

He raised an eyebrow. “Volume One?”

“Yeah, I decided to split it up. I’ll give you the other half when we finish our trip. Have to keep you on your best behavior.” She smirked.

That was really just a bonus reason, though. The real reason was that the first volume ended with their brief Dream Crab reunion, after Danny died. The second volume included some things she had said that would allow the Doctor to figure out how deeply and desperately she really loved him, particularly what she said in the Cloisters. She feared how he might react, and she didn’t want to spoil their trip together. The Doctor could read super-fast; if he wanted to absorb both volumes overnight before their trip, he could easily do so.

“When am I not?” His eyes twinkled. “Thank you, Clara.”

“Of course. Now, toddle off to your TARDIS. Ashildr and I will join you in the morning.”

He smiled. “You are impossible.”

“Of course I am, it says so on the cover. Full marks.”

He laughed and went out the door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite convinced by my version of the Doctor’s fixed-point death in series 6 and the Doctor’s inaccuracy in "The Time of the Doctor"? To each his own, but here is a condensed version of my reasoning, besides what Clara figures out above.
> 
> • If Eleven truly was on his last regeneration at Lake Silencio, he should not have been able to emit regeneration energy like we saw, not even hidden inside a Teselecta. Ten must have been telling the truth when he explained his not-regeneration in "Journey’s End." And Eleven, pre-Lake Silencio, must have had one regeneration left – and yet must have worked through that regeneration by "The Time of the Doctor."  
> • Teselectas have poor acting skills, as we saw in "Let’s Kill Hitler," yet the ‘Teselecta-Doctor’ acted exactly like an older, death-ready Doctor would.  
> • Why couldn’t the Doctor have escaped a burning funeral boat? Couldn’t he have hidden a blast of regeneration energy to heal himself amidst the fiery boat, then escaped out the bottom or over the side of the boat, or even escaped via the TARDIS? I know he’s mid-regeneration, but come on, this is the Doctor we are talking about.  
> • The Doctor could have easily faked all River thought she saw, namely the real Doctor inside the Teselecta-Doctor, whether psychically or via hologram or another way.  
> • If he planned to regenerate back into the same face, the Doctor still had reasons to lie to River rather than tell her his plan. First, he was trying to persuade her to kill him, because he really wanted to save reality. Second, he also wanted to save her the pain and guilt of knowing she actually had killed him. Third, he was not sure he could regenerate into the same face. And possibly fourth, he also might not have been sure whether he would be able to regenerate at all, perhaps really worrying that Ten might have regenerated while keeping the same face such that Eleven truly was already on his last regeneration.  
> • During Clara’s middle visit to him on Trenzalore, the Doctor had particular motivation to lie to her about his regenerations for the sake of her approval, because he hadn’t seen her for ages and he intended to permanently send Clara away just a few minutes later.  
> • The Doctor always maintained he really did marry River. If he was inside a Teselecta during "The Wedding of River Song," its hand was bound to hers, not his. If the Teselecta explanation was a lie, then the Doctor really did marry her then – appropriately so since he was about to die.


	3. The Last Hurrah Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and the Doctor begin their one last trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your patience. I have been working out things about the whole trip, hence the delay in posting this chapter. But I’m sorry you had to wait so long. Thanks to my beta, Anne, for helping edit this.

Ashildr cast knowing looks at Clara as they ate breakfast, and she was too nervous to be patient with the snarky immortal.  “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

Ashildr smiled.

“Oh come on, stop it. Or at least talk.”

She laughed. “You’re a bundle of nerves this morning, aren’t you.” Clara glared. “You’ve gone on so many trips with the Doctor, but you’re still excited. Worried, too, of course. Your last ‘last hurrah’ failed spectacularly to separate you . And…”

“And?”

“Nothing.”

Clara snorted. Ashildr’s face softened slightly, wrapping her hands around her mug. “I know how you feel about the Doctor. And you know you’ve got to go to your fixed death after this. It’s quite serious, really. And you’re all nervous about it. Just…be careful, okay?”

Ashildr was as gentle as Clara had ever seen her.

“I will.” Ashildr raised an eyebrow. “You know I will. I can’t risk changing my death. But this trip together, he deserves it. I deserve it. One trip isn’t too much, yeah? And yet, it makes separating….”

“I know.”

Clara searched Ashildr’s eyes, finding only concern. “Look, I know…I know you and the Doctor have your differences. But you’ve looked out for the people he abandons. Maybe could you…look out for him, once I leave?” Ashildr frowned slightly. “Not as his companion, I know you shouldn’t travel together. He wouldn’t let you anyway, I think. But….”  Ashildr gently covered Clara’s hand. “Just look out for him, yeah? You’ve seen how bad he is at being alone.”

Ashildr dropped her gaze. “He may not let me. He still blames me for your death.”

“Just do what you can _._ ”

Ashildr smiled. “I will.” She picked up their two mugs and started washing them in the sink.

“Oh, and Ashildr?”

“Yes?” She turned around as Clara stood.

“Thank you. For this, for being my friend and supporting me all these months. And for coming with us today to keep us to one trip.”

Ashildr smiled. The brush clanged in the sink and Clara found herself engulfed in a quick, damp hug. Clara barely had time to react before Ashildr returned to the sink, looking a bit embarrassed. She resumed scrubbing. “Go, get ready for your trip.”

* * *

 The Doctor was already in the console room when Clara and Ashildr arrived. He seemed nervous, but grinned at both of them.

“Hello! Are you ready to go? Oh, right, bags.” He took Clara’s backpack from her, then turned to Ashildr. “I got the TARDIS to set up your room with an alarm that triggers when the TARDIS door opens.” Suddenly he squinted. “You’re not bringing anything? We’re not sure how long the trip will-“

 “I don’t need anything.” Ashildr smiled. “I’m not coming with you.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Clara glared at him for a second before turning back to Ashildr. “But you promised. I don’t trust my- …You said you’d stay in the TARDIS to help us stick to one trip.”

“I don’t need to come with you to help you do that. I figured out how to monitor and track your TARDIS reliably. If you take more than one trip, I’ll know immediately and hunt you down. And meanwhile, I can travel wherever I like instead of being bored in here.” She paused, offering a wry smile. “And you two lovebirds won’t have a third wheel interfering in your last trip together.”

“You wouldn’t be inter-”

       “We’re not loveb-“

Clara and the Doctor stopped, realizing they had spoken at the same time.

Ashildr shook her head. “Think of it as a gift.” She looked at Clara. “An early goodbye present,” she softly added.

Clara hugged her. “Thank you.”

Ashildr stiffly hugged her back for a second, then extracted herself. She nodded and turned to the Doctor, whose face was unreadable as he stared at her.  “Ashildr, there’s hope for you yet.”

“Who said you were the judge of that? Anyway,” she suddenly turned to leave, “I’ll see you soon. Have fun.”

And she was gone.

Clara took a deep breath. “Where do you want to go?” they said simultaneously.

* * *

 Of course their trip wouldn’t go perfectly. Of course it wouldn’t. They had barely gotten into the vortex before discovering they were being pursued.

The Doctor groaned. “This is not how this trip was supposed to go!”

“What is it? What’s following us?”

He stared at the scanner screen. “No. No no no no no. Not them.”

“Doctor.”

 “It’s the Ertullian Family.”

“The what?”

He turned a few knobs. “The Ertullian Family. Like the Family of Blood.”

“The what?”

He flipped a switch. “Telepathic parasites. Incorporeal by themselves, so they steal others’ bodies and life forces. And…” He started typing furiously, eyes glued to the screen above it.

“And?”

“They use up their victim’s bodies rapidly. A human wouldn’t last more than a handful of months, maybe a year. So they’re terrific hunters, always finding new victims. Must be exhausting, all that hunting and killing. But they enjoy it. They’ve destroyed whole planets of living beings just for the thrill.”

“So they would consume us if we land?”

“Worse than that. Our lives wouldn’t be used up so quickly. They might be able to wreak carnage for a very long time. Which is probably why they’re hunting us.”

“How are they even doing that? We’ve got a time machine.”

“Probably a time vortex manipulator. So they can follow us wherever, whenever we go. They’ll never stop with a Time Lord as their prey.”

“So what do we do?”

He stared straight through her.

“Doctor, what do we do? We can’t stay in here forever. I’ve got to go back to Gallifrey. And we can’t lead them there.”

Finally he spoke. “I’ll have to do it. To throw them off our trail.” He ran down the stairs.

“Do what?”

He seemed to be rummaging in the storage below.

“Doctor! Tell me!”

 He ran back up, clutching a fob watch. “Clara, do you trust me?” He grimaced. “Never mind, I trust you. It all depends on you, Clara, because I’ll be human.”

“Doctor, you’re rubbish at acting human. You _can’t_ -

“Be, not act. Honestly, Vastra said you taught Engli-” – he caught her glare – “Never mind.” He pressed the watch into her hands. “This watch will be me.”

That made no sense. “Doctor, what…?”

He ran to the other side of the console and began punching buttons furiously. “They want a Time Lord. I have to stop being one, to throw them off our track.”

“You can stop-”

“Yes, I can. I’ve got to. Human’s the best option.”

“How?”

The TARDIS jolted again, nearly throwing Clara off-balance, and knocking the screen to his right. He grabbed it back and resumed jabbing at the controls.

Clara stepped toward him. “Never mind, why won’t they still follow us?”

He stepped away from her to fiddle quickly with the instruments on the diagnostic panel. “They can smell Time Lords. But they might just be guessing from the TARDIS. So we’ll split up. Set her on autopilot in siege mode until she shakes them, then she’ll return to us. We can set that up.”

“But what if they track us down?”

“That’s why I need to become human.” He snatched the watch out of her hands and rushed towards a metal contraption being lowered from the ceiling. The Chameleon Arch, Clara remembered. She couldn’t recall what it did.

“They can smell me: they haven’t seen me. We’ll hide and wait for them to die.”

“How long?”

“Just a few months. Don’t worry about that, I’m programming it to signal when it’s safe to turn me back.” He finished whatever he was doing with the Arch and strode back to the console.

“Right, okay. And how will you become human?”

He didn’t look up from jabbing furiously at the keyboard. “The Chameleon Arch. Changes every cell in my body.”

“Do we need to change me too? Since I’m functionally immortal-”

“No. You still smell human. They don’t know you’re immortal. They’re just looking for a Time Lord. And with me as a human, we’ll be needles on a pine tree.”

Or haystack? Somewhere with lots of humans, then. “Where are we hiding? And what do we do while you’re human?

“Somewhere on Earth. The TARDIS will take care of everything. Invent a life story for me, find me a setting and integrate me.” He finally looked up at her, his eyes intense. “Because I won’t remember I’m the Doctor. She can't do the same for you. You'll have to improvise. I should have just enough residual awareness to let you in. You’ll have to work with whatever life story the TARDIS cooks up.”

“Okay. No, wait, hold on-”

The TARDIS shook violently.

“They’re attacking. We’ve got to hurry.”

“Okay, what do we do next?”

* * *

 Clara shuddered. This was a nightmare. After she and the Doctor had set everything up, he had rewritten his biology to human. She had to watch him undergo the whole excruciating process, in case something went wrong. Every whimper, every scream, every tear, until he lay unconscious on the grating. In her desperation she had finally remembered Ashildr and called her. Together they had modified his plan a bit, materializing the other TARDIS inside the Doctor’s ship and smuggling Clara and the still-unconscious Doctor out of his TARDIS. They couldn’t all stay in the Diner-TARDIS; they would be a danger to each other if they stuck together. They couldn’t let the Ertullians find another immortal to consume, and they couldn’t let this TARDIS hint that the Time Lord had escaped his ship. Ashildr had argued that Clara shouldn’t risk those months with him - that Ashildr should be the one watching over him while he was human, but Clara wouldn’t stand for it. And besides, his TARDIS should have already written Clara into his life story anyway. There was no way she would ever let Ashildr fool the unsuspecting Doctor into thinking she was Clara.

Now Ashildr had dropped them off at the coordinates his TARDIS had indicated, with what they were supposed to need, as well as a few books Ashildr insisted would be helpful for adjusting to the time period. Apparently he was beginning  a job at Oxford University as a reader of history. The date was September 30, 1946, and they were at a train station. Somebody must be coming to pick them up. Hoping they would be late, Clara perused the briefcase, finding papers identifying the Doctor’s human version as “Ian Peter McCrimmon.” Clara smiled. Of course the TARDIS would give him a fittingly Scottish name. And, oh, thank God, somehow ‘Ian’ and a Mr. James Radcliffe in town had already set up a house for him and Clara. She would have to figure out how later – the TARDIS? As she put everything back, the Doctor – no, Ian – finally stirred. Good. She needed to know what he thought she was to him, what her role was, because the Doctor had said that the human him wouldn’t accept anything else.

“Hello, dear. I must have fallen asleep.” 

Clara exhaled. Good, she wasn’t some sort of maid or secretary. Daughter, then. It wasn’t uncommon for adult daughters to stay with their parents. Not all young women in 1946 had husbands at her age. And though he mightn’t know how crucial to him she really was, he wasn’t likely to abandon his daughter. She smiled.

“Yes, we had quite the exhausting journey. The person picking us up hasn’t come yet.”

“I hear a car coming now, though.”

Sure enough, a car was pulling up. Clara cursed under her breath, then plastered on a smile. The man got out of the car.

“Good afternoon, James,” greeted ‘Ian.’ When was the last time the Doctor was so polite?

“Dr. McCrimmon, good to see you again.” How did he already know his face?

“I’ll get your things into the trunk, then, shall I?” At the D- _Ian’s_ nod, James grabbed Clara’s bags from her before she could react. “And who is this lovely young lady? ” he smiled.

“I’m-”

“Clara is my wife.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue and ideas are from "Human Nature" from series 3, since I want the Doctor to talk like himself. I made up the name “Ertullian.” In "The Family of Blood," similar beings call themselves the Family of Blood. “Family of Blood” seems like what they would call themselves, not their name everyone actually calls them by. So the actual used name of the Ertullian Family need not be similar to "Family of Blood."


End file.
